The subject
by zzn-gr
Summary: 16-years old Severus Snape staring in "Death Eather without a cause". One-shot.


"Finite Incantetum! Finite Incantetum!" No one claiming to know Severus Snape, would be able to recognize the urgency in his voice while trying to uplift the curse. Not many things could cause the 17-year-old Slytherin to act on sympathy and Marjory Clocksmith could easily be regarded as the last in a list of thousands.

_Acting on sympathy? Yeah, sure! _

_Mercy? Like if! _

_Next think you'll say I'm in love with Potter. _

_I just got used to her. _

_More than it was advisable to. _

_Subjects are to be used not get used to. _

_I should never stoop so low as to get used to a subject._

Rumours had it that young well-versed fellow-fighter got dangerously used to his subject couple of months earlier. Which led in said subject being wrapped in the finest silk while being kept caviar-fed and feather-pillow-rested. All that up until equally well-versed wife of above mentioned well-versed fellow-fighter decided to confirm the statistics about short life-span of subjects. Said subject lasted 3 months as a total. Humiliation of above mentioned less-well-versed fellow-fighter still follows him around like a shadow. Not a small price to pay among a group of merciless fellow-fighters.

But still, Marjory Clocksmith was a subject extraordinaire. And in Severus Snape's case there was no wife attached to blame for malfunctioning subjects.

_Which is perfectly fine with me cause I'd rather swim in a pool full of spirit after sliding on a razor slope than put up with a whimsical banshee that will call herself my wife._

"Marjory? Marjory? Can you hear me?" A loud slap followed by a brief pause before the next slap came, shook Marjory Clocksmith from head to toe. A rapid succession of slaps later and she was still blue and trembling. A caldo and a desoffoca spell proved equally fruitless as she was neither cold nor chocking.

"Imperius! Marjory breath! You're not having a heart attack – or whatever it is that you're having. Breathe woman! That's it. Now bring me the sliced batwings."

She struggled for a minute trying to obey the curse. But just when he thought she finally made it, she dropped to the floor. Severus Snape sighted a long sight. __

_Great! So bloody inconceivably great! Just what one needs in a middle of an experiment for 4 hands. _

_Next think I know, Aurors will come trotting through my door. _

_But what more should I expect the way they're treating subjects around here? By the time I lay hands to a new batch of them, they're so severely damaged they don't last._

Although couple of months was the average life expectance of other fellow-fighter's subjects, Severus Snape held his own personal record. Marjory Clocksmith; eight and a half months since the day he had discovered her in the kitchens. The others had dismissed the middle-aged witch upon sight dumping her in the care of Arnold. Arnold: his lordship's left hand. Always finding time to cater for household's needs when not plotting or scheming at his lordship's side. A position many were jealous of. But not Severus. Severus was happy to be forgotten buried in a lab with an obliging subject. A well chosen expertly manipulated obliging subject.

He was painstakingly careful in choosing his subjects. Never the youngsters. By the time they figured out what had hit them in the first place and adjust in the new reality, it would be a month. Not to mention their utmost lack of skill and experience. Besides, there were rarely any youngsters left. His fellow-fighters took it upon themselves to choose their subjects while still at the field. Habitually, they didn't even bring them to the obliviator. Severus would never understand their need to claim their entertainment by risk of disclosure. An improperly obliviated subject could cause great damage in case of escape. And that was still another reason for subject's short lifetime. Botched oblivious! Just how proficient they believed themselves be to cast successful oblivious on Death Rivals' victims?

All subjects had to be properly obliviated upon entering headquarters. Then, their allocated masters would be responsible for always keeping them under control. Which simply stood for keeping them under Imperious. But Imperius, albeit acceptable as means of control could prove addictive when excessively used. Addiction usually led to tolerance. Subjects under prolonged Imperious tended to be able to fight the curse. Not to mention what subjects under prolonged care of inept masters were able to do.

Not in Severus' case. He was a gifted caster and a brilliant master. His subjects never fought him. He specially picked them not to.

His target group was middle-aged female subjects.

Every female, even if never able to get more than a pass mark in potions, was acquainted with kitchen's basics: slicing, chopping, melting, crushing, mixing, measuring, timing…

Every middle-aged female had by that age been settled with a loving overbearing husband and hordes of screeching children. All of whom, under Severus' careful ministrations, were presumed still alive… The hope of the damned. How could a woman believe she still had a family regardless her ending up a Death Eater's pet, was well beyond him. Dum spiro spero, they say.

It usually took no more than a couple of hours of his meticulous guidance to have them under his thumb. No Imperius involved. Just fear. Plain effortless fear. Mixed with a hint of un-based hope. All it took was a little poking around into their brain to let him know the names of their beloved. And then the manipulation began.

If you obey me, I'll keep them alive. You're lucky to be with me. I won't hurt you, I won't let the others hurt you, I'll keep you safe, I'll keep your family safe. Do it for John. Do it for Anna and Melinda. All I want in return is an obedient assistant. I need someone to monitor the experiments when I'm not around. While I'm gone I'll check Anna and Melinda for you. If you try to escape I'll check Anna and Melinda before you. Will you clean those salamander spleens after finishing up with the leech juice? I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Wrap up and get some sleep. Goodnight.

His little scheme never disappointed him. He rarely used reminders after having convinced his subjects of their unprecedented luck to be under his care. He could return to Hogwards, polish up homework, attend classes, make a forced appearance during meals, pick a random fight with the bothersome foursome and still have his experiments running.

Hogwarts seized teaching him new things years ago. Which was good cause now he could devote himself to his true Master and Lord. Let Moldy-Voldy believe he was the one holding that position. Who could stand the man preach for more than an hour, anyway? True, he was a charismatic story-teller but only for the likes of McPherson. Stephen wasn't able to breathe and swallow without being specifically instructed. Not to mention the overexertion of blinking at the same time.

Everyone Severus knew (who possessed more than 3-solitary-barely-functioning brain cells) had their own agenda. Moldy-Voldy was just the catalyst keeping them together. Lestrange had joined for the chicks, Luscious for prestige, Avery cause he was a pervert, Bellatrix for the fun, Mallory over a bet and Nott cause everyone else did. It was kind of glamorous to belong to some kind of elitist club; even with an obsessed leader, a strict dogma and a hard to climb hierarchy. If there was some pureblood propaganda thrown in just to give a more avant-garde look to it, who would mind? It acted like a connecting link between them. Just like wizards attending Quidditch matches needed a team to follow; a slogan to shout; a symbol to bear.

The Dark Mark. Best experience in a man's lifetime. The feeling of self-fulfilment that embraced you the very moment it burned your skin, the after-feel that followed you everywhere for days; the bond you formed with world's most masterful minds that made you realise your potentials. Even now with the novelty of it worn off, it still inspired owe. Being accepted to a secretive society, sharing a link not only with those that took the mark at the same ritual you did but those who came before or will come after; those who were tired of putting up the infamous act of being good and lawful, those who felt the need to seek knowledge whether it was labelled as dark or not.

There was nothing dark to it actually. It might seem dangerous to the non-initiates, but that's why certain fellow-fighters shouldered the weight of being group-leaders or consultants. Access to numerous tomes and invaluable ingredients would mean nothing if not for the constant counselling of a true master. Media Romanski in Severus' case. A master of her status could easily earn a fortune by supplying the whole Diagon Alley with finely made potions, be the head of any pharmaceutical industry, become a freelance apothecary advisor of rule Classified Substances and Ingredients Emporium. Alas, she chose to be a devoted researcher. On Moldy-Voldy's side no less. Delving hopelessly into nativity rituals together. As if the world had need of a second wacko.

Eating death and the rest of Moldy-Voldy's philosophical crap. Death Eaters my ass. Of course Moldy-Voldy is a great mentor himself; no one can argue on that. And a brilliant scholar, no doubt. But overriding death? Now, really, how thick could you be to believe such a thing? Prolonging life, sure, that was achievable. But avoiding mortality? Simply inconceivable! If there was such a thing then why Salazar and Merlin were dead? Oh, yeah right, not dead. Just waiting for Moldy-Voldy the Great to resurrect them and claim the glory.

At least Severus was more down on the earth than the whole lot of them, Moldy-Voldy not excluded. He joined to gain something solid not just empty promises. And he did. The knowledge he obtained during the last year was unimaginable by Hogward's standards. Thanks to Media's tutelage he could pass Master in Potions exams with flying colours, even before graduating Hogwarts. If only he could achieve a distinction on top and have it mailed to the wise-man's window shill.

That should teach him that you cannot rule children by House Points and candies. House Points, sufficient discipline measure as they might have been for 11-year-olds, couldn't discourage older students from breaking into the _Forbidden _Library or trespassing _Restricted _Forest. To find what, I ask you? Next he'll put _Cooking with a Vengeance _in the Restricted Section. No, Hogwards was unable to discern between students craving for knowledge and those longing for pranks. What he'll do next? Vote for that preposterous French law that forbids students using magic outside school?

"Enough with the wool-gathering though. Better start rummaging the kitchens for a suitable replacement". And with a snap of his fingers, he summoned another subject to dispose of Marjory Clocksmith's corpse.


End file.
